i'm waiting (on my real life to begin)
by potidaea
Summary: Lena's routine had all too easily become this: 1. Arrive home at approximately 6:23pm, traffic permitting. 2. Slide off painful stilettos and change out stiff work clothes for soft, comfortable sweats. 3. Pour a large glass of red wine from the aged bottle on the counter. 4. Settle onto the couch and activate L-Corp Virtual Reality contact lenses.


_Don't you understand?_

_I already have a plan:_

_I'm waiting for my real life to begin._

_When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened._

_But in my dreams, I slew the dragon._

* * *

Lena Luthor's day is the same every day. Like any good scientist, it is positively repeatable.

Each morning begins like this: a blaring alarm at 6 o'clock sharp, one cup of black coffee with a splash of milk and a slice of toast eaten over The Wall Street Journal, a shower that was longer than strictly necessary, a carefully crafted outfit, and a smile to her doorman before the usual (unscheduled) call from the Metropolis satellite office on her morning drive.

By the time Jess greets her - _Good morning, Miss Luthor. The reports you requested are on your desk. Copies of the Metropolis files are underneath, organized by account number then date._ \- she is always frazzled and in need of a second hit of caffeine.

There is always a cup waiting, fresh, on her desk.

Her days run on in a similar fashion. Mind-numbing phone calls with hapless prospective investors. Meetings that could be emails - does it _really_ take an hour to spit out two sentences? - and endless emails that should be meetings. How many times can you loop someone in before you _just schedule the fucking conference room_?

Her only brief reprieve is lunch with Kara, every Wednesday at 1pm. On those days, the blonde reporter arrives with a radiant grin and a bag of utterly unhealthy food that Lena is more than happy to eat. They talk about Kara's latest article and _Alex is being so annoying_ and when she eventually realizes who she's complaining to she apologizes in a way that usually bothers Lena. But it's Kara and there's no pity in her eyes, so she smiles and tells her that Lex was annoying, too, before he was anything else. And it all feels so good and real…but that's only Wednesdays.

On most days, she waits with bated breath until finally, finally, finally it is 6 o'clock again. The magic hour at which she can rid herself of the shackles tying her to her desk and head home. This is routine. Routine is nice, of course, but it had become too mundane - shifting from a comforting hum to a blaring siren sounding the alarm of the utter loneliness in her life, loud enough for all of National City to hear.

And Lena's routine had all too easily become this:

Arrive home at approximately 6:23pm, traffic permitting.

Slide off painful stilettos and change out stiff work clothes for soft, comfortable sweats.

Pour a large glass of red wine from the aged bottle on the counter.

Settle onto the couch and activate L-Corp Virtual Reality contact lenses.

Her mind wanders farther than she'd ever allow outside the solace of virtual reality.

She thinks about her mother…about what her life would have been like, if only she was alive. About how happy she would have been, unencumbered by the weight of the status of her inheritance balanced by the shame of her origins.

_When she opens her eyes, her mother is right in front of her. She isn't sure how, but she knows they are at home in Ireland. Green eyes are smiling fondly back at her, "Can you hand me that, dear?"_

_She looks down. A bag of carrots is resting on the kitchen counter by her hand. They're cooking dinner together, she realizes - something she never did with Lillian and, no matter how nice the thought, wouldn't dare be so bold as to request. "Sure, mum," she hears herself respond in an accent that she lost decades ago._

_The radio plays quietly in the background as they chop vegetables in unison, tossing the mince into a seasoned pot simmering oil on the stove. When her mother asks - "How was work?" - she doesn't feel herself stiffen as she normally would, instead she hears herself eagerly explaining her latest research. Her mother smiles._

And she thinks about Kara. Beautiful, perfect Kara.

_It's never the same thing twice. _

_Some nights it's Wednesday, but Kara isn't on the other side of her desk or at the opposite end of the couch while they dive into their burgers. No, she can feel the heat of her thigh pressed against her own as they sit, pressed tightly against one another. Her eyes are soft - kind, loving. _

_Some nights she says it even: "I love you, Lena." _

_Those nights are the hardest to come down from, but god, are they worth it. _

_She's in Kara's apartment and game night must have just ended, based on the crew filing out the door. "Stay?" Kara asks, biting her lip nervously. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."_

_"Yeah, of course," she hears herself say. The reporter beams._

_When Kara rests an easy hand on her hip, leaning down for a kiss, she melts into it. She feels soft and like everything Lena ever imagined. There is nothing eager about the kiss - it's perfectly gentle, a homecoming. _

_Sure, some nights Kara is rough and raw and all flesh and no substance, but most nights Lena wants only this: soft kisses with gentle touches and heavy words. _

And then, when her glass runs dry and the simulation is over, she thinks about how juvenile it is to dream of a life she could never have.

When Jess says "Your mother is on Line 3," a piece of her heart breaks at the sound of the flat voice on the other end, no lyrical lilt or joyful pride to be found. Eventually, when she sees Kara again a small part of her forgets - just for a moment - that it isn't real. That lunch is just lunch. That a smile is just a smile. That Kara is just Kara, so far from the loving partner she'd envisioned.

Still, a routine is a routine.


End file.
